


A preludio to a sharp night

by WriterKos



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Awesome Phil Coulson, COULSON LIVES!, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 20:52:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1164394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterKos/pseuds/WriterKos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Have you ever wondered what happened to Coulson’s cellist in Portland?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A preludio to a sharp night

I saw her for the first time on a rainy Wednesday when the skies were pouring out over Portland like monsoon rain. The beat of the drops on the zinc roof could be heard in the background, in its own syncopated rhythm against the music being made inside the old theater.

It was my first day as second violin at the Portland Symphonic Orchestra so I took with good humor the hazing the other violins gave to the “very last stand” in the so glorious violin team. Being accepted to the Portland orchestra was indeed a great honor. The teasing would be my faithful companion for many months yet to come. I was just briefly introduced to the other musicians before the long hours of hard work – we were doing a first reading of a Prokoviev’s sonata – finally started.

_Orchestra, this is fresh meat._

_Fresh meat, this is the orchestra. Now open up in the second page in the beginning of the line of the violas…_

Yet, during that rehearsal – and many others yet to come – I would notice her there, in the first cello stand, plucking her strings in pizzicato or touching it with her bow with a blank look on her face, totally immersed in her music, as if the notes in its sharps and flats were able to carry her away to a world made solely by sound and magic.

And yet, as the piece reached its end and the bows around her took a resting position, she would slowly put down her bow and look around so sad that almost made me stand up, cross the violins and violas that separated us and simply hug her. It was as if the music was her hiding place and she wanted to stay there, immersed in it; the reality was too harsh and cruel for her to return to it.

She looked… I don’t know… I think the word I am looking for is… _lost_.

It still took me three rehearsals – and the beginning of the studies of a Shostakovic piece for violin solo – to finally ask my stand colleague about the sad blonde in the first cello stand.

“So… what’s her story?” I pointed at her with my chin while I helped to fold a music stand after the end of the rehearsal.

My colleague, whose name was Lori thanks to her mother’s undying love to Gilmore Girls, glanced over her shoulder and briefly snorted before focusing her eyes again on the recalcitrant stand that refused to fold in her hands.

“That’s Lucy Hall.” She muttered, keeping her eyes and her voice down as she finally won over her stand and moved to the next. “We don’t talk about her.”

That brought a crease to my forehead as I finished mine, turned around and started folding the flute section stands.

“I don’t understand.”  I tried to be discrete in my staring at the cellist. “Why not?”

“Listen…” Lori sighed and took a step forward, took the music stand from my hands and started folding it in practiced movements, at the same time she whispered in order to not be heard by the other musicians standing nearby. “She lost someone last summer in New York. That…” Lori glanced over her shoulder at the cellist and muttered, “that broke her spirit and she had a very bad time for a while. She came back just two months ago.”

Now that makes sense…

“Oh...” I freeze, feeling the familiar sense of loss and guilt and pain building in my chest. Pain and loss is something I could relate and understand, so for another moment I stood there, lost in my own mind until my Lori snapped a finger in my face.

“Hey!”

I finally got out of my own personal hell to look down at her.

“Stop staring, it’s creepy.”

“Sorry, I…” Lori rolled her eyes at me and started pilling music stands in my arms.

“Take this to the storage and stop being so nosy.”

Before leaving the stage, I chanced a final look toward the blonde cellist and found her staring at me, her gaze direct and clear, as if she knew that I knew something about her. I momentarily froze, feeling her stare as if she were studying me as carefully as her solo for the Preludio in C sharp. 

The spell was broken only once she turned, took her cello case and left the stage, not once looking back as she walked towards the exits to the left side of the theater, leaving me bereft and almost as lost as her.

I exhaled loudly and holding the music stands tighter against my chest, left to the backstage where the storage was located, hoping to hide the crushing feeling that I had seen that blank stare before.

 After all, that stare was the same one that had greeted me on the mirror every day for many months too after…

I don’t wanna talk about it.


End file.
